


I U She

by orphan_account



Category: Castle
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ficathon, Multi, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2174004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Ficathon prompt: Lanie and Tory become friends in spite of the fact that practically the only thing they have in common is that they both might be in love with Javier Esposito.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I U She

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkyCoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkyCoffee/gifts).



> I didn't strive to keep everyone in character, I strove to write porn. Keep that in mind before reading. Also, I made a decision to use the 'c' word in here, for the first time ever. After much back-and-forth, I've chosen to leave it in. Just a warning in case it's one of those words that you find jarring.
> 
> This story was pulled from FFNet for violating the ratings, so I'm giving it a permanent home here.

 

**_That 70s Show_ Post-ep**

* * *

He's stunned into silence by the scene before him: Tory and Lanie dancing together, moving like they're the only two people on the dance floor. His eyes drift from Tory's slim figure, to Lanie's curves, burn a hot trail up her body, and find her eyes now locked on him. Lanie's moving to the music, swaying her body in time to the beat, and watching him with pure need. She juts a hip to one side, rolls her shoulders back, and her chest is a little more prominent now - and her lips a shade of red no lipstick could produce. Pure want radiates out from her, and he finds himself drawn in like a sailor to the sirens, experience telling him this will end just as badly. Still, he goes to them.

He slides in between them, into the space they've made just for him. Tory leans forward, curls her fingers over Esposito's shoulder, presses her long, lithe body into his, and murmurs into his ear, "Rematch."

Maybe it's the 70s theme, the wig, the mustache, their tight, tight dresses. They're all playing a different role tonight, lost in an era of pivotal change. Wedged between their gyrating bodies, Esposito leans back as Tory's body slides against his, and he hears her whispered words, hears her propositioning Lanie behind him. Lanie's full breasts press against his back, and he can't see her but God that thing she just did with her hips sure felt like a yes to him.

He knows what Tory's words mean, knows what she's planning. They shouldn't do this, not sober. Probably not at all. Not when last time was supposed to be a one-off, a mistake they weren't supposed to ever discuss - a night he hasn't been able to stop thinking about since.

The flimsy dresses, his own tight clothing, all do little to disguise what hides beneath. They need to leave, before someone gives them away, before others are clued in. Before he takes them both on this dance floor.

* * *

Tory slips away first, her long hair trailing behind her as she cuts her way through the dancers, the start of the journey back to her place, again, like last time. Her bedroom is becoming a sanctity for their sordid trysts. He follows, after a ' _later'_ to Lanie, a promise rather than a farewell, who says her own goodbyes, and heads off shortly after. The three meet on the sidewalk, squeeze into the back of the same cab, Espo once again between them, their fingernails scratching up the tight material clinging to his inner-thighs, his own hands trailing under silky material, discovering warm skin beneath, dividing his attention evenly between them.

The cabbie's getting an eyeful in the mirror; he sees Tory catch the driver's eye, and it only serves to spur her on. Her lips press to Espo's neck, her tongue flicks across his skin, and she sucks on the spot that turns him into putty in her hands.

Lanie's dress has shifted high enough to allow her the freedom to throw a leg in between his; she cups his face in her palms, and rubs herself against his thigh. He applies pressure, shifting his knee, and she keens softly into his mouth, tugging his lips harder against her own, thrusting her tongue past his. The hot, wet slide of tongues, of Lanie's underwear dampening his thigh, of Tory's full, parted lips sucking his neck, almost undoes him. The fucking cab driver better put his foot down and break some speed limits or they'll be paying the fine for soiling the back of this cab, getting arrested for indecent acts in public.

It's all hands, and legs, damp fabric, and the smell of sex, and he can't fucking think.

Tory cups him through his tight pants, before she scratches her neatly-trimmed nails along the length of the zipper, huskily whispering obscenities against his neck.

 _Rápido, rápido,_ he silently begs the cabbie.

They can't get to her apartment fast enough.

* * *

They come to a stop, the cab, the three sandwiched in the back almost climbing each other, and someone tosses bills through the gap, no one caring if it's too much, not enough. But the driver seems satisfied, perhaps the show alone enough of a tip.

Clothes are adjusted, and they slide out the same side, somewhat presentable for the short walk into the building, to the elevator.

They're quiet, keeping a respectable distance, but he brings his hands to Lanie's hips and drags her in front of him, hiding the wetness on his thigh.

Her fault, after all.

The elevator doors slide closed, the floor is chosen, and he's pressed between them again, Lanie behind him, Tory in front, their hands slipping beneath his shirt, easing down the zipper of his pants. He angles his head to capture Tory's lips, but all he gets from her lips is a sly smirk before she claims Lanie's. He hears the wet smack of hot, open mouths connecting, and God knows whose hands are squeezing him but damned if he cares. He can't get his own hands between their bodies, he's sandwiched in too tight; he skims the pads of his fingers up silken material, aching for skin, listening to two pairs of swollen lips as they slide and nip. The elevator stops, the doors slide open, and it's all just a blurry mess of lips, and hands, of moving bodies, and the slide of material.

* * *

They enter Tory's apartment in a rush, hands moving quickly to shed Esposito of his clothing, so tight they peel the pants down his legs, tearing the shirt as they free him of it. Tory reaches for Lanie's dress, but he stops her, a dangerous edge in his tone as he commands, "Leave them on."

He beckons them to the bedroom, waits for Lanie to slink down the length of the bed, dress riding up to reveal the long expanse of her thighs, parted just enough to give him a peek of what's underneath. No underwear. When did that happen? Tory peels her own sodden panties down her legs, and kicks them off, the scrap of material so small he wonders why she bothered with them at all.

Espo eases in between Lanie's splayed legs, hiking her dress to her waist, and coaxing her legs even farther apart. He presses his face to her, parts her folds with his thumbs, and runs the tip of his tongue up from opening to clit. His cock twitches from the taste of her, how wet she already is, how her body responds to his. She arches back, inhaling sharply, pressing her heels deeper into the mattress, and her cunt harder against his face.

He feels the dip of the mattress beside him, feels the movement of Tory's body on the comforter as she makes her way up to Lanie's breasts.

He lifts his head, just enough, to catch a peek of Tory sliding Lanie's arms free of the dress straps, and tugging the top of the dress down until it bunches at her stomach, her breasts exposed. With his tongue circling Lanie's sodden, swollen clit, he watches as Tory wraps her lips around one nipple, her forefinger and thumb around the other, and circles, and pinches, and sucks.

He eases up a bit, and thrusts two thick fingers inside Lanie's dripping core, harshly flicking her clit with his thumb, and nipping at her inner thigh.

Fuck, she's close, he can hear it in her short, desperate breaths, feel it in her ever-tightening muscles surrounding him, see it in the color flaming through her smooth, dark skin.

Tory's on her knees, and he can't keep his eyes from drifting to her perfect ass as it sways gently. He wants to bury his head between her legs, the pink lips he can see just barely peeking through, desperate to taste her.

Tory shifts, and nudges him away. He reluctantly moves out from between Lanie's legs, and the space is quickly claimed by Tory, on her stomach, lips enclosing Lanie's clit, nails digging into her thighs. Espo's kneels on the bed, brings Tory up onto her knees while her tongue works Lanie, and swiftly enters her from behind. He thrusts, hears her sigh against Lanie's folds, her mouth pausing while he fills her, while he slides in to the hilt, his hands on her hips, holding her tight against him - and then he begins to move. Lanie mewls, Tory grunts with each thrust, and fuck this is just going to be hard, and fast, and messy. He pounds into Tory, pushing her mouth harder between Lanie's splayed legs with each thrust, and she doesn't let up, she just keeps working her mouth, clinging to Lanie's thighs, drawing sounds from Lanie he doesn't think he's ever managed to elicit from her. Gripping her hips, he slams into her repeatedly, finding his own rhythm faltering as his orgasm builds. One of Tory's hands slides off Lanie's body, shifts down between her own legs, and he can feel her body respond around him the moment she touches herself.

Eyes slammed shut, breathing ragged, Lanie pinches her own nipples, and it takes her over the edge - and then it's all just like dominoes falling. Lanie climaxes against Tory's tongue, Tory's breath hitches against Lanie's thigh as her own orgasm takes hold of her, and with a final series of short, sharp thrusts, he empties himself deep inside Tory.

For a moment, it's quiet; bodies lay sprawled over each other on the disheveled comforter, and the smell of sex hangs heavy in the air. But he is the first to shift, to ease out of Tory, and move up the mattress. Tory slides between them both, he presses his body against her back, spoons her tightly, and his eyes meet Lanie's over sweat-slicked skin and wrinkled material.

Later, _soon_ , once they've recovered, he's determined to coax those noises out of Lanie on his own - while Tory watches on.

* * *


End file.
